


Take Comfort in Your Arms

by the_sinnamon_roll_writes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, HMCWTIYS, I don't write stuff like this super often, Low on hurt high on comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), but I needed some feel-good shit and I figured others probably could too, but he gets better don't worry, but this is the first time I'VE done it, help it's so corny, i think, it's fluff lads, look I'm sure this exact premise has been done a million times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29166570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sinnamon_roll_writes/pseuds/the_sinnamon_roll_writes
Summary: As was his usual custom, Aziraphale was sitting in a comfortable armchair, reading a book and allowing his mind to drift off to a certain demon whenever it saw fit. Occasionally he would take a sip of his cocoa that had long since turned to chocolate milk. When he remembered, he would use a small miracle to heat it up again, but more often than not he was too lost in the book or in thought to bother. Chocolate milk was tasty on its own, if not particularly calming. All in all though, Aziraphale found he was enjoying a little quiet, uninterrupted down time.Uninterrupted, at least, until there was a loud round of pounding on his front door.Crowley shows up at the bookshop one night, drunk and upset. Aziraphale takes care of him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 93





	Take Comfort in Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> What year is this? What event is it that upset Crowley so much? That is all up to you, dear reader. The focus isn’t meant to be on the tragedy in this one. I feel like we could all use a little comfort right now. I know I mentioned WWII, so probably sometime after 1940. Still gives us plenty of material to work with.
> 
> This was written as a response to [usedtobehmc's](https://www.instagram.com/usedtobehmc/) Write This in Your Style [post!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CJtpw9NFGbQ/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) I went for the second picture because it sorta lent itself to the particular brand of comfort I've been craving.

It was nearing nine P.M. and very much past closing time at A.Z. Fell and Co. 

As was his usual custom, Aziraphale was sitting in a comfortable armchair, reading a book and allowing his mind to drift off to a certain demon whenever it saw fit. Occasionally he would take a sip of his cocoa that had long since turned to chocolate milk. When he remembered, he would use a small miracle to heat it up again, but more often than not he was too lost in the book or in thought to bother. Chocolate milk was tasty on its own, if not particularly calming. All in all though, Aziraphale found he was enjoying a little quiet, uninterrupted down time. 

Uninterrupted, at least, until there was a loud round of pounding on his front door, accompanied by unintelligible yelling. For the briefest of moments, Aziraphale considered just leaving it be. It was probably just some drunk human who’d found themselves at the wrong door who would figure it out eventually. But then again, there was also the chance that someone needed help. And Aziraphale was a good angel- he could never turn away anyone that came to him in an emergency. 

It wasn’t until he was right at the door that he sensed the demonic aura from outside and couldn’t help but smile. Crowley. Although this wasn’t exactly his normal entrance, Aziraphale found he always appreciated his company, even when he wasn’t able to admit it. 

The first thing the angel noticed upon opening the door was the smell. The demon reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana. And not even very expensive tobacco. Overall, it wasn’t a very attractive cocktail of odors, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. A small, hopefully unnoticed angelic miracle rid them of the stench immediately, and he was able to focus once again. 

“Crowley?” He hadn’t meant for it to be a question- he’d actually wanted to greet the demon politely and ask him in for a drink (although he was already second-guessing the wisdom of that particular offer). He was just so caught off guard, he momentarily lost his manners. 

“Hullo angel!” Crowley exclaimed upon finally seeming to notice Aziraphale in the doorway. “‘S it ‘kay if I come in?”

Well. He certainly hadn’t been expecting _this._ Crowley had been drunk around him several times. He knew rationally that the demon would drink without Aziraphale as well, and had even crossed paths once or twice in the past when Crowley had been doing so- it was just odd to see in such a circumstance. He’d never sought out Aziraphale after he’d gotten wasted. 

“Of course, dear, you’re always welcome here. Is- is there something wrong?” 

“Course there is. ‘M a demon. I’m alllllll sorts of wrong. Might as well call me Mr. Wrong. I’m cold, angel,” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale sighed to himself and stepped aside to allow Crowley to pass into his much warmer building. “Alright. In you go now dear, watch your- be careful!” Aziraphale yelped when Crowley stumbled in, stepped on the angel’s foot, and promptly face planted onto the bookshop’s wooden floor before Aziraphale could try to catch him. 

“Ow. ‘Ziraphale, when’d you get so hard?” Crowley asked the floor. “Y’should go back to being soft. Much nicer that way.”

“How much have you had to drink?” It had been a while since he’d seen Crowley this drunk. One of the World Wars, if his memory served (and it always did- it was the Second World War). 

“Mmm, one?”

“This is not you after just one drink, my dear.”

Crowley blinked and almost managed to look insulted as Aziraphale bent over and started helping him to his feet. “Not drink. _Pub._ Drank one _pub’ssss_ worth of liquor. Maaaaybe two.”

One he was vertical (said loosely- he was swaying from about a hundred degree angle to a seventy degree one) again, Crowley looked confused. “What’re y’ doing in my room? Y’dun’t come here offen. Offen. Of _ten.”_

“Dear, you’re in my bookshop,” Aziraphale replied patiently. “Would you consider sobering up a little now?”

The demon made a face like Aziraphale had suggested he lick dirt. “‘M not in your shop. I just got up.”

“You just _stood up_. Because you fell on my floor. I assure you, you are in my bookshop, not in your bedroom.”

“Well tha’sss good. Love bein’ here. Love you, angel! Your shops always quite. Quiet. Calm. Love it,” Crowley repeated brightly. 

“And I love you too, of course, but what is going on? Did Hell give you an assignment?”

“Ugh, Hell. Those wankerssss can get fuffed. Stucked. Fucked. Stuffed. Angel, why d’you like words? Words are hard. I mean, there’s so many different languages, ‘n we both know ‘em all. But why do we need ‘em? Everyone should just speak one language, then ‘e could all unnerstan each other.”

Scratch that. He hadn’t seen Crowley this bad since the Inquisition. Aziraphale was starting to get worried now. He didn’t like seeing his demon like this. Drunk Crowley was fine; it was Getting-Drunk-to-Cope-With-Overwhelming-Things Crowley that Aziraphale hated seeing. “Come, you don’t have to sober up entirely, just enough to hold a coherent conversation. For me?” 

Damn this angel. He knew full well that was all it would take for Crowley to acquiesce. With a heavily put upon sigh, Crowley’s face screwed up at the unpleasant sensation of all the alcohol in his system being purged. Several of Aziraphale’s neighbors suddenly found themselves sipping on incredibly strong blends of brandy, whiskey, and other liqueurs instead of the water, wine, and it one particularly jarring instance for a nine year old, a cap full of cough syrup that she had been arguing with her parents about taking for the last ten minutes. 

“Thank you, love,” Aziraphale said upon reading Crowley’s expression. “Now what has you in such a state?”

Aziraphale knew him well enough to know that Crowley’s eyes were shifty behind his sunglasses. The demon shuffled uncomfortably, looking left and right for a distraction of some sort. When none was readily available, he sighed heavily. 

“Haven’t you seen the news?” Crowley asked, his voice switching from drunkenly loud to oddly subdued in just one sentence. 

Suddenly Aziraphale knew what this was about, and was mentally smacking himself for not working it out sooner. “Ah. I take it you’re talking about all that nastiness with America?”

“Hell sent me a commendation. I’m set to get a promotion soon. One or two more big ticket eventssss like thissss-” Crowley cut himself off with a choked sound. He took off his sunglasses and vanished them into the ether, finally allowing blue eyes to meet yellow. Aziraphale was almost overwhelmed by the amount of raw emotion there. After a moment, he gulped and continued. “Might make me a Duke or something.”

“Crowley, I know it wasn’t you. This isn’t your style at all- you could never do a thing like this.”

The complete and utter relief on Crowley’s face made Aziraphale’s heart ache. There had been a time or two that Crowley had caused humans to do genuinely terrible things, but those were few and far between, and almost always under direct orders from his superiors (or, on one or two occasions, purely by accident. Pope Gregory IX’s outcry against cats came about from an offhand comment of Crowley’s, and historians still argued that the resulting feline-persecution had a role in why the plague spread the way it did). 

Unfortunately it was short-lived, and his expression fell again all too quickly. “If you think about it,” Crowley said quietly, “it is my fault though. Y’know, I tempted them, all those years ago. If it weren’t for that damn Apple-”

“Crowley, we’ve been around humans for thousands of years now; do you honestly believe they wouldn't've eaten the Fruit without any prompting sooner or later? They’re such curious creatures, Adam and Eve were no different. One of them would’ve tried it eventually. After all,” he added quietly, “if the Almighty didn’t _really_ want them to eat it, she might’ve placed it somewhere a little harder to reach.”

He had a point. Even before Eve had been created, Adam had asked all sorts of questions of their Heavenly Mother. And Eve... Eve was asking _why_ before Crowley had even set eyes on her. It was human nature to be inquisitive, and Aziraphale firmly believed that was by design. They couldn’t thrive in a single garden, even one like Eden. 

But when Crowley got like this, it could be difficult to pull him out. Words alone rarely did the trick- Aziraphale knew from experience that he would need to do a little more to help his demon feel better, especially when he made no indication that he was going to respond to the angel’s reassurance. 

“Come with me, my love,” Aziraphale said softly, taking Crowley’s hand and guiding them away from the ship entrance. When they were in front of the sofa Aziraphale kept in the back room, the angel took his shoulders and gently guided him to sit down on the couch. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a mo’.”

As soon as he was in the small kitchenette in the back of his shop, Aziraphale stopped and took a deep breath. For some reason, these sorts of things always seemed to affect Crowley more than they affected Aziraphale. Perhaps it was because the demon was always blamed for them. Or perhaps it was because Crowley could only sense the despair that the world felt through such tragedies- he couldn’t sense the love and unity that humans could radiate in the aftermath of these things to pull through like Aziraphale could. He couldn’t sense the strength and determination they possessed during times of hardship. Crowley only picked up on the misery and pain of it all. That had to be hard. 

Aziraphale didn’t exactly take a long time preparing tea and a small assortment of sweets and nibbles, but he didn’t rush it either. He wanted to put something nice together for his partner, and tea that hadn’t been given the proper time to steep certainly wasn’t _nice._ After the kettle was done boiling and the tea had steeped for about five minutes, Aziraphale decided that was enough. Carefully balancing two mugs of freshly boiled herbal tea and a small plate of goodies, the angel returned to find Crowley sitting right where Aziraphale had left him. It was odd, seeing him sitting as still as he was, and Aziraphale quickly decided he didn’t like it. The only sign that he was even alive was the gentle swaying motion he’d adopted. Left and right, over and over, smooth motions meant to self-soothe. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t sobered up as much as Aziraphale had originally thought. 

Once he was within reach, Aziraphale placed the drinks and sweets on the coffee table and turned back to Crowley. Making sure to allow him to keep rocking, Aziraphale snagged a blanket from the back of his couch and wrapped it around Crowley’s thin frame. It was soft and miraculously warm, and helped the demon to relax visibly. “Here, dearest, have some of your tea.”

Crowley did as he was bid, silently bringing the cup to his lips and sipping. Aziraphale smiled approvingly and reached out to stroke Crowley’s hair back away from his face. The demon leaned into the touch, so Aziraphale repeated it several times, enjoying watching his lover calm down. Yellow eyes began to dilate as warm love, so intense that even Crowley could feel it washed over him, and he started slipping into that lovely space where he no longer needed to think or do anything- his angel would handle all that. He didn’t need to make any decisions, he didn’t need to handle the outside world, he was completely under Aziraphale’s control, safe and adored. 

“Stay right here, Crowley, and drink a bit more. I’m going to get a book before I sit with you.” Something light. Humorous. Something that would take Crowley even further out of his head and out of the current state of affairs in the world. Perhaps some Austen- Crowley had been rather fond of _Pride and Prejudice. The Importance of Being Earnest_ was amusing, and he knew Crowley enjoyed it, even if he hadn’t particularly liked Oscar. _The Odyssey_ might be good, if only for how long ago the events actually took place- and the ‘Nobody’ scene was always amusing. Oh dear, he was getting too distracted. Aziraphale shook his head, and grabbed his well-loved copy of _Pride and Prejudice._ Love was, after all, what Crowley really needed right now. 

Once again, the demon was in the exact same position he’d been in when Aziraphale left; the only indication that he’d been moving at all was the missing tea in his cup. There was only a few centimeters left on the bottom of the porcelain, over-saturated with herbs and nearing undrinkability. Keeping his movements gentle and predictable, Aziraphale took the cup from his hands and placed it on the coffee table before turning back to the couch. 

Then, with tenderness he wasn’t sure he deserved, Crowley was scooped up into Aziraphale’s arms, turned around, and placed back down again, this time next to his angel. His legs were comfortably sprawled across Aziraphale’s lap. His head suddenly felt far too heavy, and promptly fell over to rest against his partner’s chest. The angel tugged the blanket around him more securely before he allowed his arm to wrap snugly around Crowley’s bony shoulders. 

Once they were both comfortable, Aziraphale waved a hand beside him and moved the little snack tray he had put together next to where he was sitting down beside his demon. With a delicacy only shown in angels and the odd human, Aziraphale picked up a small chocolate and held it up to Crowley’s lips. He made no move to force it in Crowley’s mouth, merely offering the option. Still, he beamed when Crowley accepted the treat from his hands, his tongue even flicking out to caress the angel’s finger before closing his mouth around the chocolate. It wasn’t necessarily a gesture to arouse- more to immerse. Crowley was searching for any and all good sensations he could find.

“I’m going to read out loud to you now.” Aziraphale announced. He wasn’t asking Crowley if that was alright or what he wanted. That wasn’t the point of this. The angel was taking care of him, plain and simple. If Crowley truly felt opposed to something, he could just say no, and Aziraphale would stop. But he trusted his angel enough to know that it wouldn’t come to that. Aziraphale’s hand that wasn’t preoccupied came to open the book on his lap, handling it almost as carefully as he was his demon. Taking a long deep breath, Aziraphale began to read. 

He read as he felt Crowley melt into his embrace. He read when Crowley’s breath became slow and steady. He read until well after he was certain his demon had drifted off, hoping his voice might carry into his dreams. 

Humans could be cruel, could do things that would make Satan himself balk. They could be imperfect, violent creatures that seemed to love chaos for chaos’ sake, and would do anything just to see it. 

Here, in Aziraphale’s abode, none of that existed. The angel simply wouldn’t allow it. He insisted on maintaining a light, calm atmosphere around him, and being an angel certainly helped with that. But that wasn’t for himself. Aziraphale could handle the negativity of the world, even if it made him feel sick to his stomach and depressed for several weeks afterwards, because he could still feel the Love humans carried with them. As long as that was there, Aziraphale could handle it. 

No, the reason for the comforting aura that Aziraphale projected onto his shop was the demon in his lap. Crowley needed this just as surely as plenty of humans did- and Crowley had many millennia’s worth of evil wearing him down. Whenever and wherever possible, Aziraphale swore to do what he could to lift Crowley up and help him get away from the turmoil. 

There was no undoing Crowley’s trauma, be it from Heaven, Hell, or simply centuries of seeing the worst that humans had to offer. There was absolutely no doubt that he suffered because of it, and that would never completely go away. 

But Aziraphale was more than capable of taking care of him when it all got to be too much. And that wasn’t going to be changing anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> And so ends my submission, I hope everyone liked it! I did have about 1.7k words of smut originally planned to add as a second chapter, but I'm just not feeling it. I might post it as a sequel or something at some point, if anyone is at all interested.
> 
> Anyway, kudos are appreciated, comments are cherished! If you'd like to send me a request or just say hi, you can find me right over [here!](https://the-sinnamon-roll-writes.tumblr.com/)


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